1947 JEEP Willys Pickup

The first time I went to Mount Shasta was the Spring of my sixteenth year. Not owning a car, my pal, Will, and I took a Greyhound Bus from San Jose, Ca. to McCloud just south of the town. There, his aunt met us and drove us to 'The Wagon Wheel', a bar that Will's uncle John owned in the heart of Mount Shasta.

Besides being the oldest established bar in town, The Wagon Wheel's claim to fame was that Fes Parker was filmed there two years earlier in his movie, Climb An Angry Mountain. When the movie came out however, the locals were angry that their beloved mountain had been portrayed as a killer while in reality, it was believed to be the focus of an ancient spiritual society that roamed the jeweled caverns within. Frequently, strangers would drop in just to see the place because of this. John had wanted his son to take over the business but, as is often the case, the son had his own plans. So John worked it during the day and hired help to tend it at night.

When we met Uncle John he expressed remorse that he could not take time to be our tour guide, and that, if either of us, only had a driver's license, he would have been able to lend us a vehicle.
Wild Bill Hickok could not have 'cleared leather' as fast as I produced my shiny, new, California Driver's license! I wish I had paid attention to the expression on John's face. I know now how I would have reacted, but he was a man of his word and we had Wheels!

Our chariot, it turned out, was a 1947 JEEP WILLYS pickup truck. Built during WW II for the US Army. It looked every bit its age, had a four cylinder engine, a two barrel carburetor, four on the floor, four wheel drive, a top speed that matched it's vintage year, and a rear differential that contributed mightily to the oiling of the rural roads in northern California. Each morning we had instructions to stop in at the local garage and have that oil topped off, 'less the roads dry out.


What freedom that JEEP represented! We could go anywhere that could be imagined. We took it places we had no business walking, so we thought, and returned us to Uncle John's safe and sound. Wherever we went, people waved and smiled, because they knew the truck and John, not because they knew us. They knew we were someone special to John and that was notoriety enough.


It was unusually hot that Spring, which suited us fine. We fished, we swam, we explored, we jumped over the spring that is the headwaters of the mighty Sacramento River and picked watercress from the same. We had the best time of our young lives!


On the day before we headed home to San Jose, we awoke to find a note from Uncle John saying he had gone to run some errands before he opened the bar and he would see us at dinner. We decided to drive north to shoot some target practice and visit Will's grandma in a nursing home in Weed, about 10 miles away. We took the back roads to avoid the construction that had Interstate 5 down to one lane each way. We were on our own and loving it!


After another perfect day, we said goodbye to Will's grandma and decided that the fastest route home would be the Interstate. There is only one exit between Weed, Ca. and Mt. Shasta, along Interstate 5. President Nixon's mandatory speed limit of 55 was still four years away so, with a posted limit of 70, we were only 10 to 15min from Uncle John's. It was early evening as I merged into the only southbound lane open, due to the construction. The Willys four cylinder wound up, as I shifted deftly through all four gears. In less than five minutes I had her at top end with a speed of 47 mph! This trip would take a little longer than planned.
The parade of traffic that we were leading soon extended to the far reaches of the rear view mirror. Fresh out of driving school, I knew the law required me to pull over and allow following traffic to pass when there were three or more vehicles behind me, but, with the road construction, there was no shoulder on Interstate 5. I was stuck! The sound of the engine whining, the unusually hot, Spring day and the pressure of a crowd of cars breathing fire down my neck, made the trip excruciating.


At last an exit was in sight. Of course it was in sight, there wasn't a vehicle in front of me for miles! I exited and waited a full half hour for the traffic to pass. My pal counted out loud the first thirty, or so, vehicles before my embarrassment let go to laughter and relief. I rejoined the Interstate and drove the last two miles to Mount Shasta.


At about 6:30, as we were preparing dinner, Uncle Johnny came through the door in his typical jolly mood.

"How's your Grandma today?", he asked.

As I shot a glance toward Will, I saw that he was just as puzzled as I was. We hadn't told anyone where we were going, and Will's Grandma didn't have a phone.

"How did you know we went to Weed?", Will asked.

Uncle John smiled broadly, "At about five, a city slicker came in the bar looking pretty hot under the collar. He didn't wait for me to ask before he blurted, 'If I ever find the son of a bitch that let two kids loose on the Interstate in a JEEP that couldn't do 45, I'll...' ." Holding out his hand in demonstration, John continued. "I told him, 'Stop right there. I'm the son of a bitch! What'll you have?!"